


The Essence of Outsiderness

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural, The Wolf Man (1941)
Genre: M/M, Man Against Wolf Violence, Other, SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge, Werewolf Castiel, Witch Sam Winchester, Wolf Man AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-08-14 09:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Michael Gottschild considered himself to be a rational man. Everything fantastical had a logical, rational explanation. He wasn't counting on some of those explanations being quite so fantastical, though....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I saw a martyr in the Wolf Man, who is the very moving essence of outsiderness, with which I identified fully." --Guillermo del Toro
> 
> Written for the SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge, Round 22: Monster Mash-Up, for the prompt "The Wolf Man". Wherein Michael is Larry Talbot, Sam is Gwen, Castiel is Bela, and this ends a lot happier for everyone involved.

**M** ICHAEL GOTTSCHILD CONSIDERED himself to be a fairly rational man. He believed in what he could see, and he saw what was real. Some people questioned how he could claim to be rational and still attend church every Sunday, but Michael never had trouble rationalizing his decision to do so. The universe was enormous, and there had to be much more out there than he knew about... it was just a matter of discovering it and then discovering the logical, rational explanation for everything, even for such esoteric concepts like "god" and "magic".

Because of his self-professed rationality, Michael was more than a little skeptical of the stories about werewolves of all things being told to him by the shopkeeper of the little antique store he'd wandered into. The boy was fairly attractive, and he even seemed to know that the story he was reciting sounded ridiculous, so Michael just smiled and nodded as he bought the silver-headed walking stick and asked if Sam had plans for the evening.

"It's the full moon," Sam pointed out dryly, a faintly impish glint in his uniquely sunflower eyes, and Michael chuckled with him.

"Of course, of course," he agreed, figuring that the boy probably didn't want to announce whatever personal plans he might have to a relative stranger, even the nephew of Mayor Shurley. "Tomorrow evening, then?"

An odd expression crossed Sam's face then, and he glanced between Michael, the walking stick, and the street beyond the window, before looking back at Michael. "We'll see," was all he said before someone hailed him from the back of the shop and Sam excused himself to deal with whatever situation had arisen. Feeling off-kilter, but recognizing that now was not the time to press for further interaction, Michael took his leave of the shop. After all, he was here for the summer, helping his uncle clear out the old manor house. He had time.

Too much time.

The manor house was big, dreary, and uncomfortably chilled since the modern heating had been put in well after it was built and didn't cover everything. His uncle didn't want him going through his rooms, the study, or the library without him present, and he would be stuck at a formal dinner supporting the conservation of the woodlands around the town. The housekeeper, Anna, had the keys to the attic and the rooms on the third floor, but she was gone until tomorrow, something about a family issue.

That left his own room, the formal receiving room, the formal dining room, and the kitchen in which Michael could move and explore, and after making himself a couple of sandwiches for dinner Michael was quite unenthusiastic with the idea of being confined inside such a limited space with nothing better to do than sort through formal china and silverware or catalogue paintings of huntsmen standing around the corpses of deer or wolves. It made Michael uncomfortable, because while he could understand the practice of hunting for food or killing to protect your family, these depictions were clearly of hunting for sport, and if they weren't of potential historical significance he'd just as soon see them all burned.

The weather report on Michael's phone said that the evening was fairly warm with a nice clear sky and a full moon on the rise, and with the manor so chilled and with nothing better to do, Michael decided that a walk around the grounds would do him more good than sitting around wanting to burn heirloom artwork or tear his hair out. Plus, with all the wooded areas around the manor that no doubt boasted of tangled roots and rabbit burrows, that antique walking stick he'd bought might as well get some practical use.

He was right about the trees. The woods were thicker than they first appeared the further into their depths he went, a strange mix of oak and apple trees that must have been an orchard in the past before neglect and nature took it over. Massive trunks supported by sprawling tangles of roots and reaching up with huge limbs and branches hanging heavy with leaves and, on many, the first showings of early summer fruit. The deeper he went, the more of the moonlight was obscured by leaves, causing him to need the walking stick to pick the safest path more than he had anticipated.

_ Thank God and the universe for sunflower-eyed shopkeeper boys _ , Michael thought wryly, acknowledging that he wouldn't have at the stick at all if not for wanting an excuse to talk to Sam that afternoon. He'd have to mention how helpful the walking stick had been when he went back tomorrow to see about repeating the invitation to spend some time together in the evening... maybe over dinner....

A loud crash and a yelp followed by a burst of profanity from somewhere ahead of Michael interrupted the stillness of the evening. Michael frowned in concern. He supposed that it wasn't that unusual for people to be out in the woods this late - here he was, after all - but after hearing Sam's description of the town's history and legends of werewolves, he would have thought the more superstitious citizens would avoid the place, especially if there were still any  _ real _ wolves living in these woods. He started forward, intending to investigate and offer help to whoever was out and getting themselves into trouble, when another crash and a cry of pain hastened his steps into a stumbling run.

He tripped twice in his haste, holding the walking stick up high to try and ward off the lower branches that obscured the way ahead. He gave no thought to the amount of noise he was making, crashing about as he was, since if anything the noise would hopefully ward off any unfriendly predators and alert the person in trouble to approaching aid. Not a moment too soon, either, as he finally burst through the branches to discover Sam -  _ Sam! _ \- on the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk with one arm raised to defend against the massive black wolf bearing down upon him.

Fear gripped him hard, pulling him into action before he could even begin to think. He leapt forward, the walking stick held high above his head like a club as he charged at the wolf. The beast jerked back from Sam and whirled, teeth bared in a snarl as it growled at Michael, who brought the walking stick down forcefully. The wolf dodged, but the blow landed, the decorative silver head slamming into the wolf's shoulder and making it howl in pain and fury.

"Run, get out of here!" Michael yelled at Sam as he circled, trying to keep his body between the wolf and its victim as the beast bunched its muscles in preparation for another lunge.

" _ Ye'elo pe'aie'ipe'e pei'elde! _ "

Blue light flashed through the space between the trees. The wolf stilled. So did Michael. He tried to move, to look for the source of the shout, but his body remained rooted in place, an unseen force holding him immobile. The walking stick was wrenched out of his grip and he heard it clatter against the roots of the tree before Sam crossed into his field of vision. Michael tried to cry out, to yell, scream,  _ something _ , but no sound passed his throat as the younger man picked his way carefully over the roots and stepped over to the wolf, resting a hand on the beast's head.

" _ Ta'orayevo _ ," Michael heard him say, and then watched as that same blue light flared in his eyes and beneath his hand. The wolf was abruptly in motion again and Sam was dropping to his knees, catching the growling beast around the neck and shoulders. "Whoa, there! Easy, Cas, it's okay... it's okay, buddy. Fight's over, you can stand down... yeah, just relax now...."

The wolf whined, tilting its head up and around to sniff and lick at Sam's face, making the young man chuckle, a deep and resonant sound that Michael probably would have found delicious under less terrifying circumstances.

"I know, Cas," Sam said, relaxing his hold on the wolf and scratching behind its ears. "You're very good at protecting me, I know. Pretty sure this was a really big misunderstanding, though."

The wolf gave a very human-sounding scoff and tossed his head, turning baleful eyes on Michael. Sam, too, looked in Michael's direction, and Michael felt himself cringing at the narrow suspicion on his face, the lack of warmth a stark contrast to the friendly smiles that had caught his attention before. Then Sam blinked, frowned, and straightened up. He winced, hissing softly in pain, and the wolf whined again, pressing up against Sam's leg and receiving another scratch to the ears.

"You're the guy from the shop earlier?" Sam asked. Michael tried to nod or blink, something to answer, but he still couldn't move. Sam seemed to realize that as well, because he grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Okay. I'm, uh, just gonna let you go now and you're gonna try and stay calm and not attack us again."

_ Like it would do any good if I tried! _ Michael wanted to snap hysterically. A brief moment of rationality reasserted itself to point out that saying that probably would not have gone over well, which was a point in favor for whatever Sam had done to make him stay as still as a stone, and that was really not something he wanted to think too deeply about. Sam was approaching now, clearly favoring his left leg, the wolf keeping pace beside him. He reached up and touched Michael's forehead with two fingers.

" _ Ta'orayevo, _ " Sam murmured. Blue light flared in front of Michael's eyes and he sagged to the ground, no more steady than a puppet with cut strings.

"What the hell was that?" he breathed, looking at the wolf, then up at Sam, eyes blown wide.

"A spell," Sam told him. "Well, two spells, really. One to make you both hold still, one to release you."

"Magic isn't real," Michael choked out. He knew that it wasn't. There was no such thing as magic, just science that had not yet been explained.

"Neither are werewolves," Sam agreed, reaching down to pat the wolf on the head again. "And yet, here we are, in the woods, on the night of the full moon."

The wolf chuffed softly beside Sam's knee, drawing Michael's attention. Its eerie blue eyes met his directly before the wolf turned his head and licked at his shoulder. Pointedly, Michael realized, where the head of the walking stick had struck.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, the words tugged from him without his conscious direction. "I heard the crashing and, and the yelling, and I thought--" He swallowed and looked up at Sam uncertainly. "I thought you were being attacked. You were on the ground and in pain, and the wolf was coming at you..."

"He was coming close enough to help me up," Sam said, the hand he'd touched Michael with coming up to rub the back of his neck. "I tripped over a root during our run and, uh, banged my knee up."

He glanced up towards the tree branches overhead and huffed softly. Michael followed his gaze to see the moon just barely peeking through the thick canopy of leaves. He looked back down at the wolf, who had stopped licking his shoulder and was watching him, head tilted to one side. One ear flicked, and then the wolf turned and nudged Sam's hand. The young man looked down at the wolf, and the two stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before Sam nodded.

"Look, it's pretty late," he said, turning back towards Michael. "Summer nights aren't that long, and this is a conversation best had with clear heads and a good night sleep. You think you can find your way back to... wherever it is you're staying?"

"Can you?" Michael asked, glancing at the leg Sam was still avoiding putting weight on then back up.

"I'll be fine," Sam said, lips twitching up a bit. "I live here, remember, and I've got Cas to help me."

"Right," Michael said, blinking again. The wolf. The wolf he'd thought he was saving Sam from. A wolf who communicated with a man who could do spells as if it had a human mind. "Right. I can... my uncle's house isn't far."

"Good," Sam nodded. "You go back to your uncle's place, take a hot shower, get some sleep. If you still want to talk about all this tomorrow, come by the shop around noon."

"Noon?"

"Lunch time," Sam reminded him. "No customers or coworkers to pull me away and all you can eat buffet at the  _ Laughing Dog _ ."

"Lunch," Michael repeated. "Noon. Right."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Well. See you tomorrow, I guess."

The wolf gave a deep chuff that sounded almost like a bark and turned away from Michael. Sam followed, casting one last glance in concern over his shoulder before the pair of them moved out of sight behind the tree trunks. Michael waited until their footsteps faded beyond where he could hear, then awkwardly fumbled for the walking stick, using it to push his way up to his feet. Moonlight glinted off the head, and he stared at the silver carving, the fearsome visage of the wolf staring back at him.

He lowered the walking stick and picked his way back over the roots in the direction of the manor, silently vowing to put the thing in the umbrella stand and never touch it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael used to consider himself a rational man, until he met a witch on the night of a full moon running with a werewolf. To his surprise, it's not as hard to wrap his brain around it as he thought, not when there are other things breaking his brain instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for SPN Rare Ships Creations Challenge, Round 23: Bourbon Pecan Pie!

**M** ICHAEL HAD TO admit that Sam's suggestion of a hot shower was a good one. The water pressure was good enough to beat against his muscles and push the adrenaline down and away, which let the heat seep into his bones in a way that had been absent since he stepped foot inside the manor. The cold sheets leeched some of the heat away when he slid between them, but by then he was so exhausted both physically and mentally that he was asleep nearly the moment his head met the pillow.

He was still up with the sun, the habits of a lifetime of schooling and early commute work hours sabotaging his desire to simply turn off his alarm and sleep through the morning. Remembering that the housekeeper was away for family issues - and after the previous night, Michael really didn't want to think about what those "issues" might entail - he dragged himself out of bed and into fresh clothes for the day, then down to the kitchen to scrounge the makings of breakfast. By the time his uncle stumbled downstairs blearily looking for coffee, Michael had a decent spread of pancakes and bacon prepared, along with a fresh brewed pot of dark roast that his uncle greeted like a miracle from the divine.

"So!" Uncle Chuck said after the first cup and half a plate of pancakes and bacon had made it through his mouth. "You ready to tackle some of these rooms with me?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," Michael assured him. "Just until half past eleven, though. I, uh, I have a lunch date."

"Oh, you do, do you?" His uncle raised his eyebrows in a cheeky expression that reminded Michael of his cousin Gabe.

"Not that kind of date," Michael temporized, then frowned. "I don't think. Maybe? It was hard to tell, and things are kind of complicated now..."

"Well, who's the date with?" his uncle asked. At Michael's surprise, he pointed at himself and made a circle around his face. "Mayor, remember? I know most of the people by name unless they've been away for awhile. You did at least get a name, right?"

"Yes, Uncle, I got a name," Michael rolled his eyes. "His name is Sam. Tall, works in the antique shop on Fifth and Main, gorgeous eyes..."

"Sam Winchester?" Uncle Chuck stared at him blankly. "Hm. Yeah, you're right, it's probably not that kind of date. If it was  _ Dean _ Winchester, maybe, that guy likes to get around, but Sam is pretty committed to this Romany kid he's been seeing for the last three years, uh, Castiel Lovell."

"Lovell..." Michael frowned. "Isn't that your housekeeper's surname?"

"Sure is," Chuck nodded, stuffing another bite of pancakes into his mouth. "Cas is Anna's younger brother--"

"Wait, did you say 'Cas'?" Michael interrupted, startled.

"That's what he goes by instead of 'Castiel' most of the time," Chuck explained, shooting him an odd look. "He and Anna are the eldest of Bethania Lovell's brood." He frowned suddenly, sitting up straighter as he stared Michael down. "You are not to cause trouble with the Lovells, Michael. Those people have been turned on and run out of their homes far too much over the years, and our family had promised them safe haven in this town and the surrounding woods, understood?"

"Understood," Michael murmured, though his mind was far from the plight of a persecuted family and fixed much more firmly on a pair of sharp blue eyes staring up at him from amid black fur. After a moment, he added, "Please tell me we can just get rid of all those taxidermied animal trophies?"

"Most of them, yes," Uncle Chuck told him, sending another odd look that Michael tried not to read too much into. "The full-body intact ones are going to the natural history museum over in Springfield, and I've got an art appraiser coming out to look at the paintings, but the rest of it? Yes, we can just get rid of them."

"Good," Michael muttered, tipping back the rest of his mug of coffee. His uncle took the hint and didn't ask him to explain his motivations. Maybe he even guessed how creepy Michael found all that glorification of death and destruction. For all Michael knew, he even felt the same disgust and dismay at the morbid collection that swept over Michael every time he was forced to stare down dead glass eyes.

It was, perhaps, no surprise that the first room they tackled together was what his uncle said was referred to as the "trophy room". Between the two of them, they managed to take down all of the paintings and several of the higher mounted animal busts before Anna found them.

"Well, you look as if you've been busy," she said with a humorous lilt to her voice that didn't quite disguise the cautious set to her eyes.

"All this death and destruction is depressing," Michael said, carefully not meeting either her eyes or his uncle's. He glanced down to where his hand was resting on the head of one of the taxidermy wolf heads and twitched, pulling his hand away. "I'll feel more at ease with the animal remains given a proper burial instead of paraded around like this."

"The ones not being sent off to the natural history museum," his uncle reminded him. Seeing something in Michael's eyes, he glanced at Anna, then added, "There's probably something we could do, though. Last rights? I'm a bit lapsed on my Catholicism, and that seems a little pushy to use for animals..."

"There are rituals," Anna broke in gently, "which can be used to ease a departed spirit whose remains were ill-treated. Salt and a prayer for the ones you wish to donate, salt and fire for the rest." She looked between Michael and his uncle for a moment, before nodding sharply. "I'll see to the preparations for that, then. You," she added as she turned to Michael, "probably ought to go wash up and change into less dusty clothes."

"I should?" Michael asked, blinking. Anna cocked her head to one side, her blue eyes suddenly putting him very firmly in mind of another pair of eyes he had seen recently, and smirked at him.

"You have a lunch date with my brothers," she told him, making shooing motions with her hands. "Go on, get a move on!"

Studiously ignoring the snickering coming from his uncle, Michael obligingly got a move on, trying not to look as if he was running from the room even if that was exactly what it felt like he was doing. Another shower seemed as if it would take too long, so he scrubbed his face with a wet towel and ran a brush through his hair to dislodge the dust after changing into a pair of slacks and a button down. He opted for one of his less formal jackets instead of the suit or sport coats, something about the upcoming meeting and Anna's teasing making him want to appear approachable and harmless.

_ Not like Sam couldn't snap me like a twig, even without his 'magic', _ he thought as he let out a nervous breath. He paused at the door, glancing at the umbrella stand uncertainly. The silver wolf head walking stick sat there, deceptively innocent, and yet he couldn't help the shudder that went through him looking at the carved silver snarl. He grabbed one of the umbrellas instead and slipped out of the manor to walk into town.

There was a certain type of atmosphere to small, insulated townships. A closeness and camaraderie that welcomed its denizens even as it eschewed outsiders. Michael had felt that dichotomy the day before, the townspeople overtly welcoming of their mayor's nephew and yet retaining their guarded politeness in the face of an Outsider, of someone who had not lived and worked and sweated and bled among them for years. Today, he felt that estrangement even more prominently, felt a wariness emanating from several of the townspeople as they passed him in the streets, lurking behind their eyes and fixed, polite smiles.

Reaching the  _ Laughing Dog _ brought an increase in the tension, or perhaps just in Michael's nerves. A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed that he was early, but Sam was already seated at a table near the center of the room. Beside him sat an attractive man a few years older than him with tousled black hair that looked somewhere between windswept and finger-tangled. He was the one to look up first, and Michael was momentarily pinned in place by the same piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that he had last seen surrounded by black fur instead of tanned skin.

He felt the world tilt sideways and then right itself around him.  _ Cas... Castiel. Anna's brother. Sam's.... _ Sam's what, though? Boyfriend? Anna had said "brothers", so was he adopted? A tiny voice in Michael's brain reminded him that there was such a thing as brothers  _ in law _ , which would be... fine. Disappointing, but fine, because if Sam was already... committed... to Castiel, then this probably wasn't the kind of date Anna and his uncle had both hinted at.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming over to join us?"

Sam's voice was not loud, barely above conversation level, but it carried over the whole diner with the ease of someone who knew how to get your attention when he wanted it. Michael flushed darkly, realizing that in his mental fumbling to reorient himself he had drawn the attention of everyone in the diner besides the man - men - he was there to meet.

"I wanted to be sure of my welcome," he muttered, glancing from Sam to Castiel and back as he crossed to the table. When he received nothing but a bland stare from those intense blue eyes and a raised eyebrow above the compelling hazel ones, he slid himself into the chair that had been pushed out for him by someone's foot. He fumbled a little with the umbrella before simply leaning it against the table, then looked up at Sam. "How's your knee?"

"Still a bit stiff," Sam answered easily with a half shrug. "Nothing another night of rest and some of Anna's willow bark tea won't fix up."

"That's good," Michael nodded, steeling his nerves before looking over at Castiel. "And... how's your shoulder?"

There was a tense silence as Michael awaited the outcome of his verbal gamble, feeling Sam's surprise even without looking at him, not daring to look away from that penetrating, assessing gaze. At length, the set shoulders relaxed and then lifted in a half-shrug that mirrored Sam's.

"Bruised all to hell, but nothing broken," Castiel said with a rasping, rumbling voice that sounded like he'd just rolled out of bed. "The silver made more of an impact than the blow."

The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Michael winced anyway at the implications. "I'm really sorry," he uttered miserably.

"Tch!" Castiel scoffed, waving one hand as if to brush aside Michael's apology. "You wanted to protect my  _ ves'tacha _ , which I cannot fault you for. He and Anna, they use their herbs on me, fix me up good as the new moon."

"Cas," Sam started, a frown audible in his voice.

"Sam," Castiel mimicked, rolling his eyes. "You do not smell as I do. Look at him. He knows. He has an umbrella and not the cane you sold to him. He comes and sits and he asks after your knee and my shoulder and speaks directly to me as a man to another man. If he does not know, then he has guessed, so why beat at the bushes?"

"To see if there are any birds?" Michael guessed, then flinched again as both Sam and Castiel turned to look at him. For a long moment, none of them spoke, and then Castiel snorted and his face split into a wide, white-toothed grin that made him look ten years younger and twelve times more handsome than Michael felt was really fair.

"I like you!" he chortled. "You play along with my game of words instead of trying to correct me like some _gorgio_ do!"

"Dean's learning," Sam said mildly, but he relaxed as well. Michael found his own tension dissipating in turn, as if with Castiel's declaration he had somehow passed whatever tests these two had set out for him and was now being permitted into the camaraderie. The impression was backed up when Sam waved over the blonde young woman behind the counter. "Hey, Jo, can Cas and I get the usual? What're you having?"

The last was directed at Michael, who hadn't seen hide nor hair of a menu for the place yet, so he said, "What do you both recommend?"

"Depends," Castiel said with another, more careless-seeming half-shrug. "You like red meat, you will love the burgers. You like chicken and vegetables, the grilled chicken club salad. You like fish, you are... what is the phrase... shit outta luck."

"And if you like sweets," Sam broke in with a snort, "the pie here can't be beat. My brother Dean, bottomless pit that he can be, swears that their bourbon pecan pie is almost better than sex."

"He would know, too," the woman, Jo, piped up with a roll of her eyes. "So what's your pleasure?"

"Far be it from me to ignore a recommendation as glowing as that," Michael said. "A burger and a slice of pie sounds great."

From the grins that greeted his words, he had to wonder if he had just passed another test, and if so, what were they testing him for? But Jo wrote down his order and trotted back to the kitchen, waving her hand negligently when Sam called after her to "remember the coffee this time" as if she heard it a thousand times and would probably forget it anyway just to mess with him if she thought she could get away with it. The closeness and openness was jarring after having spent the morning and most of yesterday walking around with a sign practically stapled to Michael's head declaring "Outsider: Keep At Distance".

"So!" Castiel said brightly, drawing both Sam and Michael's attention back to himself. "Now that we all know that we know, and we know there will be no more violence between us without safewords, shall we speak of the sex and threesomes now?"

"Cas!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Castiel talk, and Sam makes a potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Sam Winchester Bingo square: Witch!Sam  
> Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo square: Food Poisoning  
> Written for the Heaven & Hell Bingo square: Threesome

**S** AM STILL HAD to return to work after they had finished with their excellent if somewhat stilted lunch, so Michael and Castiel walked him over to the antique shop and then continued on back towards the manor house. Castiel kept pace with Michael without pulling ahead or falling behind, an easy, rolling gait that reminded Michael oddly of a dog keeping pace with its human companion. He shoved the comparison away, praying silently that Castiel was not actually able to read minds, but the slanted glance he received indicated that the man... wolf... wolf-man... could probably smell the embarrassment and chagrin from his poorly considered thoughts.

"You are thinking too hard," Castiel spoke up, startling Michael. Seeing that he had Michael's attention, Castiel explained, "Your brows draw close, making wrinkles where you are too young to have them."

"I'm becoming more and more aware that I'm really very bad at social interactions outside of certain very narrow circles," Michael grumbled, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Socialites and businessmen are easy. You smile and compliment her hair or shoes whichever looks more complicated, and lie about how business is good and the stocks are in your favor. I don't know how to talk to... real people."

"Are these businessmen and socialites not real people?" Castiel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"They try very hard not to be," Michael sighed. "Mostly so they don't have to admit that anyone else around them is, either. It's why I jumped at the chance to come out here and help Uncle Chuck clear out the manor."

"I see," Castiel mused, and he looked thoughtful when Michael glanced at him. "You want the chance to speak with real people who are not pretending to be fake people, but you do not remember how to do that after spending so long among fake people."

"That's almost it exactly," Michael sighed. Not that he could remember if he had ever been around real people, even as a child. His mother had married rich and he and his brother had been raised mostly in high society with rigid social rules and customs and expectations. "And then, different places and people have different cultures and rules. I... really don't understand why, since he's with you, Sam didn't just shut me down when I flirted with him yesterday."

"No?" Castiel raised both eyebrows, craning his neck to look into Michael's eyes for a moment. "No... you really do not understand, do you," he murmured, looking briefly pensive. "I can explain... but you may not like what you hear."

"I don't have to like it," Michael said. "I just need to know why, and how I can make it better."

"You are already at a good start, asking questions to know the answers," Castiel told him. He shoved a hand back through his hair and stared at the sky for a long moment, still easily keeping pace as he thought. "Okay then. First, you must see that you are Important. You wear expensive clothes and buy silver-headed antique canes and speak with the accent of a man from the cities. Even before knowing you are the nephew of our mayor, people here can look at you and see the money and influence and the power that comes with both. Men with such power are often used to getting their way from people without that power, and because you are not from here we have no way to know whether you are such a man as this, who would react badly to outright rejection. That is the bitter truth you must see."

"I see it," Michael grimaced. Castiel was right. He didn't like it one bit, but he could definitely see it. "So he didn't think he could shut me down and risk setting me off if I was..."

"An assbutt," Castiel supplied when Michael trailed off, grinning cheekily at the startled look he shot him. "Now for the truth that is less bitter, but perhaps harder to understand. Sam is my  _ ves'tacha _ , my... friend, lover, beloved of my heart, but he is not my husband by  _ gorgio _ standards. He wears my mark beneath his shirts, but we neither of us wear pretty rings or speak pretty vows in a church to love and honor only each other. He does not begrudge me things that happen under the moon's pull, and I do not begrudge him flirting with handsome city boys, you understand? We frolic and play in the woods or fields, but we return to the den... and sometimes, we bring others to play with us."

"You, ah, did say something--"  _...shocking and unbelievable... _ "--about threesomes."

Castiel tossed back his head, white teeth flashing as he barked another laugh. "I say that at least in part to make Sam blush! He turns such a pretty shade of red, don't you think? More inclined to keep such things behind his closed doors than his brother, but more passionate once behind them."

"So you were joking?" Michael asked, shoving down the flare of disappointment at the thought. Castiel shot him a knowing look and smirked.

"Not at all," he said, the low rumble beneath his voice sending a thrill down Michael's spine and heat rushing to his face and groin.

"Oh," he mumbled.

"You blush very pretty colors, too," Castiel confided with a satisfied smile. "And we will speak of threesomes again with Sam behind his closed doors. For now, you and I must speak, of me and Sam and you, and prepare for your safety."

"My safety?!" Michael stopped and stared at Castiel in alarm. Was he in danger from Castiel's family over this?!

"Peace, please," Castiel said, holding up placating hands. "There is no cause for fear. But, as you know, I am not only a human, and so there are certain precautions which must be taken before threesomes happen unless you, too, will stand naked beneath the full moon and sprout fur and a tail."

"Oh," Michael said again, feeling a little like a broken record. He  _ had _ almost forgot about the fact that the man beside him was more than just a man, and for a moment the picture he painted of standing beneath the full moon, unclothed, chaining from human to wolf, was tempting... "I... don't think that's a decision to make lightly for the sake of threesomes, no," he temporized, and saw Castiel's smile broaden. Right answer, then. "What do we need to do?"

"You and I will continue back to your uncle's big and impressive manor house," Castiel said, slinging and arm around Michael's shoulders and beginning the trek up the path again, pulling Michael along with him. "There, Anna will give me her willow bark tea with enough honey to let me choke it down, followed by more tea that is not so awful to taste so I am nice and hydrated when Sam joins us. Your uncle will, I hope, give permission for Sam to mix his potion in the manor's kitchen, which you will then drink. The potion, not the kitchen."

"I don't think I  _ could _ drink the kitchen," Michael offered, sparking another bright laugh from Castiel.

"I  _ really _ like you!" he chortled. It made Michael feel warm to hear it.

That warmth carried him all the way up to the manor and to his uncle, who greeted Castiel warmly and sent him off with Anna to get tea while Michael sheepishly explained to his uncle than "date" was apparently more accurate than either of them thought and that Sam would be by later after he closed shop in the village, and would his uncle mind Sam borrowing the kitchen? Uncle Chuck gave him a sharp and searching look at that, making Michael wonder just how much his uncle knew about the Lovells and Sam Winchester, but he agreed that Sam could use the kitchen provided he didn't get in Anna's way and both he and Castiel joined them all for dinner afterwards.

"And you may want to be sure to close and lock your bedroom door," he added in a dry tone as Michael's face suffused with heat yet again. "The halls of this house have wonderful acoustics, which is great for catching thieves but not so great for... privacy... when you forget to close the door after you."

Michael stammered an agreement and fled to the kitchen after Anna and Castiel, very certain he did not want to know exactly how his uncle knew that.

Anna let him into the kitchen with a smirk for his blush, but declined his help with anything, instead shooing him to sit down at the table with Castiel who, as predicted, was nursing a cup of hot, pale brown liquid that he kept scowling at. At Michael's raised eyebrow, Castiel obligingly reported that Anna was being stingy with the honey, to which Anna retorted that he, Sam, and Michael would all thank her for not letting him clog himself up with honey before Sam could start brewing his potion. She then tartly directed Castiel to swallow down the rest of the tea and strip off his shirt so she could put the ointment on his bruise.

That one, Michael did gain permission to help with when he asked, as well as an approving smile from Anna and a charmingly shy smile from Castiel. The ointment itself was presented to him in a stout little clay jar not much bigger than a baseball. It smelled strongly of peppermint and coconut when he sniffed it and appeared to be milky green until Michael scooped a dollop out with two fingers and it began to turn clear and tingle. It became closer to an oil as he rubbed it gingerly across Castiel's bare and purpling skin, and when he commented on it Anna told him that the base was coconut oil and peppermint extract with distilled arnica, comfrey, and witch hazel as the active ingredients for easing the bruising.

While she spoke and Michael rubbed the ointment into every bit of bruised skin he could find on Castiel, Anna started another kettle of water boiling and pulled a glass jar of what looked like dried and yellowed flowers out of a cabinet Michael hadn't gone looking in that morning. "Chamomile," she said over her shoulder. "It's calming and it's one of the ingredients in Sam's potion, so it won't matter any if you drink it."

"Do I want to know what the ingredients of this potion are?" Michael asked, feeling daunted and just a touch wary when Anna and Castiel both chorussed, "No."

The chamomile tea was prepared and mostly gone into both Castiel and Michael by the time Sam arrived with a brown leather backpack slung over his left shoulder and a thin, hand-carved, long-handled wooden spoon held in his right hand. He greeted Michael with a dimpled smile, kissed Castiel on the cheek, and saluted Anna with the spoon which made her laugh and wave him towards the stove.

"You're all clear to use the small front burner," she told him as he dropped the backpack onto the table and opened it. "Just don't get any you-know-what in the food I'm making."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sam said with such gravity that Michael shot him an uncertain look.

"Anna and Castiel both said I didn't want to know what's in this potion you're making," he started uncertainly.

"And you probably don't," Sam agreed. He pulled a cast iron pot from the inside of the backpack, followed by a small brown bottle that looked like it had an eye dropper top, then a larger green bottle that was clearly professionally labelled with a rather gothic script.

Michael felt his eyebrows go up. "Absinthe?"

"The legal kind," Sam assured him as he set the bottles down on the counter and the pot on the stove. He returned to the table and pulled out two square pyrex containers with rubber sealed lids full of what looked like spices. "It's mostly meant to be a carrier, make the rest of it easier to swallow down, but it's got the right properties to boost the rest of it. In fact, most of the ingredients get prepared and stored ahead of time, but one of the two primary ingredients has to be collected fresh and added before the other primary ingredient, and the potion itself doesn't have a very long shelf life."

"I'm not going to like the answer if I ask what those ingredients are, am I," Michael sighed as Sam cracked open one of the pyrex containers, releasing a strong smell of garlic and pepper.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise that I know what I'm doing and am not going to poison you even accidentally?" Sam asked.

"Not really."

"Then no, you don't want to know," Sam paused in his preparations and turned to look at Michael, his expression serious. "You can still back out. We won't think any less of you for not wanting to drink unknown and potentially dangerous substances handed to you by near-total strangers."

"No, I... I'm not backing out," Michael shook his head. "Castiel said drinking this... potion... is for my safety, and you say you know what you're doing, and my uncle obviously knows  _ something _ about what's going on and he agreed to let you use his kitchen for it, so..." He trailed off and shrugged a little, looking down at the nearly empty cup of chamomile tea. "You could have killed me last night much more easily than this, and if you really know what you're doing enough not to poison me by accident--"

"I do, I promise."

"--then I trust you."

"Now would probably be a good time to make sure you aren't taking any blood pressure medication or antidepressants," Castiel said into the silence that followed. "The wolfsbane tincture is infused with activated charcoal, which I am told is bad to take if you are."

"No, I'm not taking any medications," Michael said, eyes a little wide. Wolfsbane? Actual wolfsbane?!

"Good to know," Sam nodded. "Although the amount of charcoal in this is pretty low, all things considered."

"Good idea to ask about blood pressure anyway, with what you three are planning to get up to later," Anna said with a snort.

"Anna!"

Sam and Anna continued bickering like siblings as they each hovered over their portion of the stove, arguing back and forth with cheerful snark, Castiel occasionally piping in to goad one or the other with playful commentary. Michael, whose relationship with his own brother could charitably be called "contentious" these days, soaked in the nearly forgotten sounds of amiable sibling banter. At one point, Sam called Castiel over to the stove and the dark-haired man heaved a put-upon sigh before getting up and crossing to the stove. He stared into the little cast-iron pot for a moment, then pulled a strange face that looked like he was simultaneously sucking on a straw and tasting a lemon before he spat a huge drop of saliva into the pot. Michael was so shocked that he almost missed Sam taking the little brown bottle and using the eyedropper to add a single drop of black liquid to the mixture.

_ Wolfsbane, _ Michael's mind jabbered at him as he stared at Sam, who was stirring the mixture and mumbling something too low for Michael to hear.  _ Werewolf... potion...! _

"--you ready?"

"What?" Michael shook himself and looked up and around at Castiel, who was holding the bottle of Absinthe in one hand and two large shot glasses in the other. He was also looking at Michael in very obvious concern.

"Are you ready?" he repeated, more slowly, and held up the glasses. "The potion will be ready to drink as soon as Sam finishes the chanting, and he says it is best to drink it while fresh."

"Oh," Michael mumbled. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then winced and surreptitiously tried to wipe the sweat from his palms on his jeans. "Why two glasses?"

"Sam is drinking the potion as well," Anna answered him as she set two strangely perforated flattened spoons on the table along with two sugar cubes. "He doesn't need to - he dosed himself back on the new moon and won't need to again for another two weeks - but he thought it would make you feel more comfortable to, ah, choose the cup and both drink."

"Westley was immune to the poison," Michael grumbled, then winced when he realized how sullen that had sounded. Castiel only chuckled and set the glasses on the table, pouring each one half full of the yellow green liquid. Michael, who had only heard about Absinthe from eavesdropping on his mother, watched in fascination as the strange spoons were laid across the tops of the glasses and the sugar cubes balanced over the perforations.

"Stand clear!" Sam called. Castiel backed away from the glasses, circling around the table to stand near Anna as the taller man carried the cast iron pot over to the table. Michael leaned back and away to give him room, but could not bring himself to look away as Sam very carefully measured out one full spoonful with the slender wooden spoon and drizzled it over the top of the sugar cube above one glass before repeating the process with the other. The hot liquid began to melt the sugar immediately, dripping down into the Absinthe below and turning it from clear and pale yellow green to cloudy and murky brown. Sam set the pot aside, spoon inside the pot, and lifted both metal perforated spoons carefully, dropping them and the remaining sugar and potion into the Absinthe and stirring until both glasses were uniformly cloudy and grayish brown. When the metal spoons were removed they were quite empty.

"And we're really going to drink this?" Michael asked, glancing up at Sam's face and sighing a little when the other man nodded.

"The alcohol will help, but try to knock it back as quickly as you can to avoid tasting it," Sam advised. Michael nodded, then remembered that Sam was expecting him to choose which glass he wanted to drink.

"If I keel over like Vizzini, I'm going to come back and haunt you," he warned as he picked up the glass to his left.

"I can live with that," Sam told him cheekily, picking up the remaining glass and saluting him. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," Michael muttered, watching Sam put the glass to his lips and throw it back with the ease of a long-time drinker. Michael grimaced at the glass in his hand, but followed suit, throwing his head back as he tipped back the contents and opened his throat in a huge gulp.

It burned. The combination of heat and alcohol burned a line of fire down his throat, the back of his tongue catching a few bitter splashes before he forced himself to swallow them after, shuddering as the burn continued down through his chest and into his stomach where it seemed to spread throughout his entire body, setting off each nerve with fire followed by ice. Michael was distantly aware of hands on his shoulders, of a soft voice speaking reassurances, telling him to relax into the burn and let the ice come, and he did his best to follow the instructions despite the way each feeling seemed to double, triple, multiply in overwhelming strength--

The heat and ice faded away, leaving Michael sitting at the table and gasping for breath, shivering despite the sweat dotting his forehead. Sam was sitting in the chair next to him, eyes closed and breathing slowly and deeply, almost in meditation. Behind him, Michael could see Anna still at the stove, her attention firmly focussed on whatever she was making for dinner. Logically, that meant the hands on his shoulders belonged to Castiel. He tilted his head back.

Castiel looked back at him from above, his face upside down and in shadow from being bent over. "Hello."

"Hello," Michael rasped back. He swallowed, shuddering at the remnants of the bitter liquid, and cleared his throat. "What happens now?"

"Now, we wait for Anna to finish making what promises to be a delicious dinner," Castiel said, his hands kneading at Michael's shoulders. "Then we will all eat it and make conversation with your uncle. And after dinner," he added, his voice dropping to a seductive rumble, "you and Sam and I will go to bed."

"Sounds good," Michael breathed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the hands on his shoulders.

He couldn't wait for bedtime.

 

**=End=**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A Word From The Witch**
> 
>  
> 
> The bruise ointment Anna gives Michael to use on Castiel is real and perfectly safe to both make and use in real life. Make an infusion of arnica, comfrey, and witch hazel (1/4 gram arnica, 3/4 grams comfrey, 1 ounce distilled witch hazel, two cups boiling water, steep for five minutes) and mix one cup of coconut oil and five drops of peppermint extract for every tablespoon of the infusion. Do not eat or drink it! Arnica is toxic if ingested and distilled witch hazel is an astringent.
> 
> The potion Sam makes for him and Michael is heavily steeped in lore and magic and should absolutely NOT be tried at home as Wolfsbane ( _aconitum vulparia_ or _aconitum lycoctonum_ ) is HIGHLY TOXIC and WILL KILL YOU IF EATEN. The mixture Sam uses of wolfsbane and activated charcoal (which will actually slow the toxins down enough to get you to the hospital in the event of an accidental poisoning) as one of the ingredients to the potion is heavily diluted and is ONLY introduced as a counter measure to Castiel's saliva, like homebrewed antivenom. Even then, you'll notice that Sam is extremely careful with it so as not to add "too much" or get any in the food Anna's making. Similarly, Absinthe is made from Wormwood which is a hallucinogen. Again, this potion is specific to the FICTIONAL universe in which Sam and Michael and Castiel live, and is NOT to be tried OR drunk at home!!


End file.
